


Sneaks, Pranks, and Irony

by orphan_account



Category: Homestuck
Genre: Age Difference, Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, F/M
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2013-02-24
Updated: 2013-02-24
Packaged: 2017-12-03 10:30:13
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 4
Words: 2,406
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/697289
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/orphan_account/pseuds/orphan_account
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Dirk Strider, age 29, is lonely and tired, and has nothing better to do but sign up for the first dating website he finds. Slowly he becomes attracted to the mysterious, secretive, and giddy Jane Crocker, age 60. Both hide their identities from one another...for how long?</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Boredom

"A dating site."

"Yeah, totally."

He's giving you the mother of all dubious looks. His shades slip down his face a little bit and he drops his hot pocket with a splat onto his TV tray. An elongated croak escapes his lips as he blinks in confusion.

"What?"

"I signed up for a dating site."

"B-bro, you know how fucking pathetic that is?"

"As if the shits I give ain't nil."

"Does that mean that I'm gonna have to commit seppuku the night she comes over so I can't hear your frenzied lovemaking?"

"Dude, cool it. Get a sleepover or something," you sigh into your coffee mug, "Or whatever kids do these days. Smoke pot or something."

"Bro!"

"What?"

"Aren't there like, rapists or something there?"

"Now listen, if some lovely dame's got a hankerin' for takin' advantage of a totally ripped thirtysomething Texan, I ain't arguin'."

"And by ripped you mean severely malnourished due to only consuming pizza rolls and poptarts, right?"

"Not severely."

He shakes his head and walks back to his room dejectedly. You hear muffled beats playing minutes later.

The half-assed excuse for a couch creaks ominously as you stagger from it to your swivel chair. Peering into your immense monitor, you open up LONESOME ADULTS, arguably the most insulting name for a dating website ever. Your news feed comes into focus on the screen and you begin reading the posts of the only person you follow on this website... 

Her name is Jane Crocker, and she's mysterious as all hell. No profile picture. No listed age. But the cynical skepticism that graces her profile is just perfect. You've basically fallen in love after two weeks of reading her posts meticulously. She once used a word that even you didn't know. She's perfect. 

Although you haven't really spoken to her. Yet. You plan on wooing her with your ironic quips and coy witticism. After all your commenting, she's bound to take a hint and follow you. Hopefully today.

But that's what you thought last week.

And then you'll ask for a picture of her, because DAMN is that girl already attracting you. You think you get hard just by looking at her 'Hoo hoo hoo' style laugh. You think you'd like to bone her speaking style.

Is that weird?

 

;;;

 

"Bro, where are you?"

"Think deductively for a second."

"My brain is melted or something like that."

"Drink some water."

"Where are you?!"

"The only fucking room in the house that you haven't checked!"

"That's too far away."

Nobody wants to live in Houston. It is too goddamn hot. Not even the people who moved to Houston want to live in Houston. They have made a number of mistakes in their life, and they should reconsider most of it.

You're scrolling through Jane's profile again, rereading her posts from months ago. She gets occasional comments and messages asking for her hand in sexual activity, but nobody seems to suit her. She rambles about irony and pranks and baking a lot, but it still catches your eye, maybe in the way she types and the rare emoticons she uses. 

It's somewhat akin to your old style, the way you typed and wrote when you were younger. Perfect grammar and syntax...but you lost time for that, time for anything, so you converted to the classic no caps, no punctuation. 

Even her typing style is alluring.

You can't send her a message yet, right?

Right?


	2. Usernames

"Ms. Crocker, it has come to my ever-listening ears that you've searched far and wide on this godforsaken website for a male suitor, and though it's the literal apex of fucking arrogance to type this out to ya, but if I may, I'll offer myself up as a potential candidate for this challenge. Though it is pretty self-glorifying, I feel like it wouldn't be a bad idea, and it's worth a shot in the everloving dark."

Your cursor hovers over the send button. You feel beads of sweat materialize before your widow's peak, cold salty trickles plunging over your temples. Your knuckles on your free hand tense as you scan the note with increasing worry. Anxiety clouds your decision, and you walk over to the kitchen. You down a glass of water to calm your nerves. 

Dave stumbles out of his room and collapses onto a pile of his dirty clothes you never bothered to clean.

"Where is everybody?"

"What do you mean?"

"Where are your one night stands that you never manage to get past half a base with?"

"They're gone."

"What in the everloving fuck made you decide to do that?"

"Half a base."

"I just want to see somebody."

"Go outside."

"Here's air conditioned. Outside's somebody commiting mass arson on my skin," he hesitates, "And the fire department is not on duty."

"Go back to your room and quit your bitching, I've got work to do!"

"Work on getting laid." He drags his feet behind him as he enters his room. You throw a smuppet at the back of his head as he disappears.

You crack your knuckles, relax in your expensive swivel chair, your broad shoulders sinking. Finally, you decide to hit send. It's not like anything terrible could come of it.

You finally press the button.

A low groan escapes your lips as you roll off of your seat and faceplant into the carpet.

"Bro?"

"I'm dying right now, lil man."

"We need to move."

"More ventriloquism business here."

He shuts up (Finally.) and you go back to loathing yourself. 

Twenty minutes pass and you get back up to see if she's replied. Not yet. Time ticks by, slowly, slowly. And Jane still hasn't responded. 

You make pizza rolls. You eat pizza rolls. Your stomach, riddled by the pangs of infatuation, can hardly handle the chalky greasiness of them. You stop eating and drink two cans of Diet Pepsi.

You shred it up on your XBox. You film some smuppets. You jog around the house. You use the bathroom. You take a shower. You walk around the house naked. You polish your shades. You comb your hair. You walk back to your computer.

A small crimson "1" appears over your mailbox. You practically split a tendon clicking on it.

An answer is written back.

"Oh my, Mr. Strider, don't you think that was somewhat forward of you!? Hoo hoo hoo! However, you were so polite that I'm gonna give it a whirl. You can send me emails and connect to me on the chat client Pesterchum at gutsygumshoe@hemera.com and "gutsyGumshoe", respectively. I look forward to hearing from you! P.S, I'm rather uncertain you'll be able to handle my romantic side! Hoo hoo hoo!"

Your heart has either sped up beyond human compare or has stopped completely.


	3. Strike

Now emails are a small and simple thing. They should be made easily. A few words, maybe a subject line for clarity, and SEND. That's going to be simple, you thought.

You were more incorrect than you have ever been. For once in a lifetime, a Strider is at a loss for words your cursor blinks, tantalizing you. Your fingers are cold, despite your gloves, and you have zero percent chance of typing anything for the next hour. So you don't. You walk into Dave's room and throw a sword (Sheathed, of course. Don't want to prematurely murder him.) at him. He catches it with reflexes honed from previous scraps. 

"Roof. Now."

He nods with a cockiness you strive to wipe of his smug face. He follows you to the fire escape, where you trudge up in front of him. You can feel Dave's smirk behind you. You can also feel the agitation.

You walk away, distancing yourself from the fire escape. Dave stands far apart. He's gotten taller. He's not close to your 6'1, but he's holding himself. His shoulders are growing broader. He needs a haircut. He reminds you of...you. 

"On three."

He nods and frowns.

"One." He tenses up and unsheathes his sword.

"Two." You put your feet at shoulder length and prepare to dart.

"Three." You flashstep to the side, and he ducks. Clever move, you think, but not clever enough. Your sword dances and spins at an unsuspecting side, before glancing against his left shoulder. He parries it with an amateurish expertise. You zoom away, your assault unsuccessful. Time to go on the defensive.

Dave jukes as he charges you predictably. He's always a sucker for feints, and you can see one coming from a mile away. You grip your sword with two hands and prepare for the strike.

He squats and leaps over your head, swinging his blade erratically. You stab the air accurately enough to stave off his attacks, and he lands dramatically behind you. You both make an easily anticipated sideslash, where Dave's strength wavers underneath yours. He bounds back to avoid the large of the blow. 

You follow him, your steps nearly silent as your hat flies off and onto the ground. You go for an uppercut with your steel, but he expects it, and parries it. He flies up in the air and comes down with a stumble.

You retreat for a minute, and Dave stays on his toes while you shift through the muggy air. He dances about the air conditioning unit, and you can forsee his movements just long enough to strike. He's caught by surprise and hits the ground. You raise your sword and as you prepare to slash downward, he vanishes.

The sudden burst of energy takes some energy from him, and his next movement, a circlestrafe to slash you from the side, is lazy and his footfalls are heavy enough for you to twist and block his attack.

The steel reverberates with a loud "CLASH" and you throw your body back, finally daring a shock of metal against his cheek. The skin right in front of his ear splits and slight blood is drawn.

The strife; over. A battle; won.

"Nice one, lil man."

"Yeah."

He sulks back down the escape and you follow him. Reinvigorated with a human warmth, you type an email explaining that you'll be on this chat client "Pesterchum" as "timaeusTestified" and you hope to speak with her soon.


	4. Chapter 4

 

\-- timaeusTestified [TT] began pestering gutsyGumshoe [GG] at 6:13 PM --

 

     TT: G'day.

     TT: Said Mr. Strider in the most Australian way possible.

     TT: Ironically of course, but since when did that need to be elaborated upon?

     TT: Droppin' irony like it's hot, especially when he talks to potential romantic partners.

     TT: I ain't afraid of spillin' the beans like that.

     GG: Don't you think you're being a bit forward, Strider? :B

     TT: Does it really matter that much to ya, Ms. Crocker?  
     GG: It's Jane, and you are?  
     TT: Dirk. Dirk Strider.

     GG: That is a very unique and interesting name!

     TT: Hey, Jane's a pretty name, too.

     GG: I never said it was pretty!

     TT: As if you weren't thinking it.

     GG: Hoo hoo hoo!

 

     You'd be lying if you said that wasn't both cute and irresistably sexy at the same time.

 

     TT: But come on, Jane _is_ a pretty name. Suits you.

     GG: Dirk, aren't you getting ahead of yourself?

     TT: Maybe.

 

     Cool it, Strider. Give the lady some space. Give her some freedom before shocking her with the Strider ways.

 

     GG: So, Dirk, tell me a little bit about yourself.

     TT: Well fuck if you won't be shocked.

     GG: Enlighten me.

     TT: I slay dragons.

     GG: Noble profession, I'm sure!

     TT: You have no idea.

 

     There's another thirty seconds before she responds. Don't let this drag, keep it up, keep it up.

 

     GG: For real this time, what do you do?

 

     You rack your mind, calculating... _GOD,_ you haven't done good calculating in a while...the pros and cons of telling her the truth. She wants to get to the point, what do you do, what do you do?

 

     TT: I'm a ventriloquist.

 

     Good enough for now.

 

     GG: Oh my, I simply adore that occupation! Why hide it?

     TT: Just making a joke for half a minute.

     GG: Well I think it's nice.

     GG: Do you like it?!

     TT: Love it. Why wouldn't I?

     You decide to leave "pornographer" out of your job description.

 

     GG: I can't see why you wouldn't! It seems so full of whimsy to me.

     TT: With a fair shot of irony.

     GG: Sounds cool to me.

 

     She's smart. She's already picking up on the Strider style 'cool'.

 

     TT: And what do you do?

     GG: I'm a baker!

     TT: Cakes?  
     GG: Cakes are good, but my favourite are cookies! :B

     TT: Cookies are the shit. Too bad I don't get many that much.

     GG: You should buy some sometime! Or I could teach you how to bake!

     TT: I dunno about that. My little bro might be a bit put off by that.

     GG: Your brother?

     TT: He's twelve. I'm his guardian.

     GG: That sounds very sweet!

 

     Oh shit, what if she thinks you're like a daddy-age now. You're not even _thirty_!

 

     GG: You must be pretty responsible.

 

     She doesn't seem to hate it, though.

 

    

GG: Are you responsible with people?

 

You choke on your soft drink before typing back.

 

     TT: Dunno what you're playing at, Jane.

 

     GG: Oh, I'm just joking, Dirk!

 

     A part of you is glad. The other part of you wishes she was serious behind that cotton-candy blue text.

 

     TT: I should hope so. You're implying you can handle _me._

     Oh god, that was really dirty. Shut up, Strider. Shut up!

 

     GG: You have no idea what I can handle! ;B

     TT: Aren't you being a bit forward, Jane?

     GG: Yes, I think so...SIGH, I'll keep myself in check!

 

     She's so hot.

 

     TT: Why'd you do a thing like that?

     GG: I don't want to hurt you, Dirky!

     TT: And if I do?

     GG: What's the doctor order, Di-Stri?

     TT: The doctor is ordering a good helping of cake this instant, Jane.

     GG: Sigh! What a mood killer!

     TT: Which one of us told the other to slow down at the beginning of this conversation?

     GG: Stop it! You're making fun of me!

     TT: You're not seriously offended.

     GG: I suppose you're correct.

     GG: Oh well! I have to go now, Dirk!

     TT: Interesting.

     GG: Busy busy! I'll talk to you later!

     -- gutsyGumshoe [GG] ceased pestering timaeusTestified [TT] at 6:39 PM --

 

     There _is_ hope.

 

 

 

**Author's Note:**

> Thank you for reading!
> 
> The creator's blog is http://greyscaleminions.tumblr.com/


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